the war: and how it tore us all apart
by ohlookrandom
Summary: They said that the Games would change everyone. They said the same thing about the war.
1. Gale

You may notice that I am trying to move away from my obsession with the Careers. :P This is something that I am trying to explore more as a writer. The war profoundly affected a lot of people, and I wanted to try my hand at exploring how it might have taken its toll on the psyche of various characters. Hence, this. Reviews are always appreciated- your thoughts are always useful to me. :)

I do not own any of these characters.

* * *

the war: and how it tore us all apart

* * *

**oo1. gale**

_would you believe me if i said i was sorry?  
the question wasn't mean to hurt,  
it was just my fear of losing you._

Gale doesn't go back to District 12 anymore.

He's tried once, but he can never really get past the train station, because beyond the train station is the Justice building- what's left of it- and beyond the Justice building is a monument of a mockingjay. He remembers that mockingjay monument, of course. He remembers getting orders from Payton to get the remaining builders in District 2 to build one to remember all the lives lost in the war. (His pocket suddenly feels heavy.)

He expected it to be in the Capitol, not here in District 12, not here where the actual Mockingjay lives. He stands there as the train leaves behind him, just stands there staring at the slab of perfect gray stone that has its wings outstretched about to take flight.

Beyond the monument, a new town is rebuilding. Gale stands on top of the small hill, surveying the hustle and bustle of District 12 as they go about their daily routine. It is a drastically changed place; instead of smelling the harsh coal dust and the smoky fires of the mines, Gale can smell fresh violets and aromas wafting from the Hob, now an open-air market filled with vendors selling their wares. It is so new, so young, so unfamiliar.

Nobody recognizes him as he walks down the street- Gale isn't surprised, because he knows that most of the people he knew are either dead or are living in District 13. Like him, they are all still hiding, Gale reflects; still hiding from their memories, still hiding from their past.

He hides, too, but he hides from his guilt of taking so many lives. He played a part in the rebellion, too. (And his pocket feels even heavier.)

Gale continues on, his feet growing heavier and heavier with every second. He reaches the Victor's Village, miraculously untouched and the only remnant of the original District 12. There are only two houses lived in; one of them is completely dark but the other is brightly lit, with two shadows dancing off the walls. He hears them laugh- and he would know that laugh anywhere, he's heard it in the woods, in the trees. He's heard it during the rebellion, the only sound that held him together when everything felt like it was falling apart.

His will deserts him and he stops himself from knocking on the door. Again, the laugh comes from behind the door, and it is joined by a gentle, warm, low chuckle.

He hastily draws out the small box of preserved primroses that he brought for Katniss, and leaves it on the front doorstep. _Happy birthday, Prim_, he scribbles hastily on the pad of paper that he brought with him; and then he just leaves it at the door and runs away, tearing up the street past confused people and running away from all his guilt and frustration and regret and _oh_, he just wants to say he's terribly sorry to Prim for possibly killing her.

He's only gone back to District 12 once, on what would have been Prim's fourteenth birthday.

Gale never goes back to District 12 anymore.

It's easier to just hide from all the guilt.

_maybe it's all for the best,  
but i just don't see any good in this, no._

* * *

"between you and i", every avenue

* * *

_Thank you for reading :)  
_


	2. Haymitch

the war: and how it tore us all apart

* * *

**oo2. haymitch**

_fountain, fountain  
we are the same  
fountain, fountain  
we are the same_

Haymitch would just like to be alone, in all honesty.

He's done it for- for- Haymitch gives up trying to count, because it brings back memories of happier days, when there were people who loved him. And here he is, stuck in District 12, left to make sure Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark don't go off the deep end.

They won't, of course, he knows that. (Maybe he likes them too much to leave, but Haymitch only says that to himself in the dead of night when he's convinced that he's drunk from all the punch he's consumed.)

The reason that he wants to be alone is because he doesn't want to see the very people that he almost died trying to protect- they remind him too much of the people who _did _die because he failed to protect them. But Katniss refuses to leave him alone- "Haymitch, you need us as much as we need you," she insists one day after he throws his shoe at her and orders her to get out. Peeta won't quit, either- he's somehow managed to procure the key to Haymitch's door and comes in every morning with some sort of fresh bread. Haymitch would change the lock, but he's too weary to even try keeping the persistent Peeta away.

While Haymitch would much rather be alone, he still can't bear to explain _why_. Katniss sits silently with him when she can, paging through the old book of stories and pictures that she's compiled. Peeta joins them in the evenings after the bakery closes, and the three of them often sit around, eating whatever junk meal Greasy Sae somehow concocts and talking about how well the Paylor's Capitol is progressing.

They never talk about what is on their minds, though. At least Haymitch never does. Katniss and Peeta can rely on one another, he reflects, but he has no one. No one wants to listen, because they all have their own stories to tell. Their own demons to pursue. Their own grief to heal. Their own loved ones to miss.

No one wants to listen to the story of the man who lost everything and ultimately gained nothing.

_you with the water, and me with the pain  
turning it over again and again_

* * *

"fountain", sara lov

* * *

Thank you for reading.


	3. Annie

Thisone is significantly longer than the others because Annie was just a character who had so much grief bottled up, and I felt that it needed to be expressed somehow. So here you are. Bear with me, please. :)

* * *

the war: and how it tore us all apart

* * *

**oo3. annie**

_my love, leave yourself behind  
beat inside me, leave you blind  
my love, look what you can do  
i am mending, i'll be with you_

The door creaks open, and Annie looks up from her quarters. "Finnick?"

It isn't Finnick. But Johanna Mason stands in the doorway, eyes unreadable as she stares at Annie.

"Johanna?" Annie stands up, her blue skirts rippling as her bare feet hit the floor. "Johanna, what's wrong?"

It's not until she gets closer that she realizes Johanna's hand is trembling on the doorknob. And with a sinking feeling, she stares into Johanna's brown eyes. "Where are they?" she whispers (but both women know that Annie means _Where is he_?).

Johanna opens her mouth to answer.

In two minutes, Annie Cresta's world falls apart.

...

The first few months, Annie is inconsolable and withdrawn. She goes without eating (alarming the District 13 healers to no end when they consider the implications this might have on the baby's development), does not sleep often, and will not speak to anyone.

Even with the birth of her baby (which they eventually end up naming Kai for _ocean_), Annie does not improve. Her caretakers walk in one day to find her inconsolably sobbing, tugging at a complicated knot on Finnick Odair's old rope. Annie refuses to let go, and eventually they give up and sedate her again.

_Such a shame, _they say again and again, sadly observing Annie's vigil by the window, the same spot that she sat in waiting for Finnick's return from his ill-fated mission.

...

The ghosts come a few months after Annie slides backward into her memories.

She covers her ears to stop them from whispering in her ears. The people that drowned in her Games, their faces disfigured by the water she thrived in, circle and drift as they surround her. _You survived, and we didn't_, they say accusingly. _The flood was meant to help _you.

"No," she sobs into an empty room, "no, I didn't want to win anyway."

_But you're alive_, they murmur. _You're still alive, Annie Cresta._

She laughs bitterly. "Alive."

They say nothing distinguishable after that; instead they sit around whispering their stories in her ears. Annie tries to shut her eyes to block out the images, but she quickly learns that the ghosts come even when she is both blind and deaf. So she just stares straight ahead, hoping that if she ignores the ghosts enough, they will go away.

They don't.

...

Finally, when she cannot take it anymore, when the last tribute finishes his story of how he was discovered as an orphan, when Annie is about to _really _go mad- Finnick appears.

She laughs, a strangled sob that comes out more as a garbled choke really- and then she is on her feet. "How could you," she whispers.

His green eyes are sad as he stares at her. _You know I died for a good cause_.

"You promised never to leave me."

_I know_. He dips his head. _It was the first promise to you I ever broke._

She sits back down and pulls his rope closer to her. "I need you," she whispers brokenly.

He doesn't move. _No you don't, Annie._

"Yes, I do," she repeats dazedly, not even caring that her caretakers might think she is senile for talking to an empty room. No, she corrects herself, Finnick is here. The room isn't empty. "Finnick, you don't understand. Without you, I am nothing."

Finnick watches her with unreadable eyes. _That's not the girl I married._

"The girl you married," Annie says quietly, "is probably dead. I am senile. Am I going mad, Finnick?"

He takes his time answering as he strolls over to where she is sitting. _You are grieving_, he answers. _You aren't mad_.

She pulls her knees in closer to her chest, thinking she can smell the ocean on Finnick's clothes. "They think I'm mad."

_They thought you were mad before, _Finnick points out gently. _I thought you were beautiful_. He makes a move as though he is about to smooth away the frown on Annie's forehead, but he stops. _I married an independent girl. The girl who taught herself how to swim._

"_You _taught me how to swim."

_I taught you how to float, _Finnick corrected. _Come back to us, Annie. _

"You're dead, Finnick." The words slip out before Annie can stop them.

_And you're alive_, he says simply. _So live. For me. For your son. _

"Will the ghosts go away?" she whispers.

He shakes his head. _The ghosts will never go away, Annie. _

"Will you?"

_No. _He smiles gently at her. _Annie, you'll never be alone. _

He stays with her until she falls asleep of her own volition. When she wakes up, she is hungry for the first time in ages and Finnick is gone.

...

The ghosts don't leave, but Annie gains confidence every time they lean forward in her ear with a new story. She learns to hide those stories away instead of constantly pondering them. Finnick comes back often, too, and sometimes he doesn't say anything- sometimes the both of them just sit in silence and stare out into the setting sun.

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark come one day, their eyes still haunted by the aftermath of the war (and Annie wonders what sort of ghosts keep them up at night). Annie greets them wearily until she gets a whiff of what Peeta is holding in a small basket.

District 4 bread. She sniffs eagerly, and the baker's face lights up at her delight. "It's for you," he explains almost happily. "Annie, you get to go home."

"Home?" The word tastes foreign on her tongue, and she tries to remember what District 4 must be like after the rebellion. She's been in District 13 too long to remember what standing on the lapping waves feels like.

"Home," Katniss says gently. "Where Kai is waiting."

_Kai. _Annie remembers her son. "I haven't seen him in ages," she says wistfully.

"He looks just like Finnick," Peeta says with that usual knack of knowing exactly what to say at the right time. "I mean, I know that's not possible, since he's not fully grown yet, but- but he has Finnick's eyes."

Katniss doesn't say anything, but she gives Annie a tight hug when she leaves.

Finnick appears later, knowing smirk on his face. _I told you you'd never be alone_, he says.

"You didn't send them, did you?" Annie asks as she pulls Finnick's rope towards her.

He scoffs good-naturedly. _Please. Like they'd ever listen to a ghost. Katniss has enough of her own._

_...  
_

District 4 hasn't changed much- at least, not drastically like District 12. Annie is relieved that her house is still intact (she tactfully avoids Finnick's so as to keep herself from having another mental breakdown), and of course the ocean never changes. The waves lap at her feet like long lost friends, greeting her with a tickle of her feet before running back to join the vast ocean.

There is a step behind her, and she lifts her head. "Hi, Finnick," she whispers.

_I have to go, Annie._

"You came to District 4 to tell me you have to leave?"

Finnick takes a step towards her, and she sees her own pain reflected in his green eyes. _Annie…_

She takes a step back, but Finnick doesn't stop. _Annie, I came because you needed me. But you are strong enough now_.

"The ghosts haven't gone."

_The ghosts will never leave_, he insists. _It is part of being a victor. _He steps forward, so close that Annie can smell the saltwater on his clothes. _You must be strong, Annie Cresta. You did in the Arena, you did it when you waited, you must be strong when I am gone. _He almost touches her cheek, but hesitates. _You are so strong, Annie._

"And that's why you married me?" Annie murmurs, a tear streaking down her face.

_And that's why I married you._ He cracks a smile. _When you need me most, Annie, I'll come back._

"Promise?" she whispers.

_Promise_.

...

The ghosts come less often after Annie returns to District 4.

Annie still looks at herself in the morning and sees the same haunted victor in the mirror, but there is something different now. Something hard, strong, proud. Something like the woman Finnick married. Kai keeps her grounded in reality, and she finds comfort in the fact that Peeta was right in his observation- Kai's eyes do indeed look like Finnick's.

Finnick only comes in her dreams, not in her waking moments now, and Annie can only see him in her memories. Her memories never waver for a second- but she remembers only the boy that she saw from her childhood and the man who married and loved her. She tries not to remember the boy who speared all his enemies with a deadly trident and who was an expert at combat. She tries not to remember that side of Finnick.

The ghosts come less often, but they never leave. Annie still wakes sometimes with a cold sheen of sweat and panic throbbing through her lungs; but those happen less often now.

She likes to think that maybe- just maybe- she is beginning to heal.

_now i am strong (now i am strong)  
you gave me all  
you gave all you had and now i am home_

* * *

"my love", sia

* * *

At the risk of sounding like a broken record.. thank you for reading. Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated :)_  
_


	4. Effie

****the war: and how it tore us all apart

* * *

**oo4. effie**

_it's like forgetting the words to your favorite song.  
you can't believe it; you were always singing along._

Effie's heels click as she paces her room. She glances impatiently at her watch, then at her clipboard. "Five minutes," she says out loud to the room in general.

She reaches up and makes sure that the blue wig she wears is straight on her head. "Up up up!" she chirps into the empty room. "It's going to be a big big day!"

She has a sneaking feeling that something is wrong, that this isn't right, that she's done this before; but she ignores it. "Where are those District 12 tributes?" she asks the attendant who enters her room. "They're late!"

"District 12 tributes?" the attendant asks blankly.

"Yes! Katniss and Peeta. They were supposed to be up five minutes ago!" Effie taps her clipboard. "Be a dear and go wake them up, will you? I can't bear to walk into their rooms."

The attendant opens her mouth to say something, but then shuts it abruptly and walks from the room, leaving Effie's breakfast behind. Effie turns back to the windows, observing with some amazement how the scenery outside seems to stay perfectly still. And she's so high up, like she's in a very tall building. Effie shrugs, brushing the thought away. "Technology is so very modern these days," she says aloud.

The door hisses open and Haymitch limps in, his hair unkempt as usual. "Effie-" he begins, but Effie is on him in a moment.

"I've told you before," she scolds, "wash your hair Haymitch. And stop drinking, I could set you on fire from here thanks to the alcohol on your breath." She wrinkles her nose for emphasis. "Where are Katniss and Peeta? They're behind schedule!"

"Effie-"

The escort whirls around and strides back towards the breakfast table. "Do not _try _to cover up for your lack of decorum, Haymitch Abernathy, I have had _enough _of you making me look like a fool before these Games."

"Which Games are these?" Haymitch asks, and Effie can't believe that he's _that _drunk that he doesn't even know what year they're in.

"The 74th of course!" she snaps. "Really Haymitch I'm going to confiscate all that liquor in your cabinet."

Haymitch sits down heavily, lines all over his face (funny, Effie thinks, she's never quite seen that scar on his face before), and sighs. "Effie, I don't know what to tell you."

"That you're a raging drunk?" she asks sardonically.

"That you're crazy." Haymitch runs his left hand through his hair. "The Games don't exist anymore. The war is over. Katniss and Peeta were victors. Snow is dead. You are no longer an escort."

The words penetrate Effie's brain and she shifts her weight, confused. "The Games are over?"

Haymitch nods.

"The Games never end," Effie persists. "There's no such rule. No protocol. The Capitol would never allow it-"

"The Capitol is dead." Haymitch reaches for a bread roll, slices it open, and begins buttering it.

At this, something clicks in Effie's brain. "You're drunk," she says in a clipped tone. "Get out, Haymitch. I don't want to see you for the rest of the day, you'll corrupt Katniss and Peeta before they even go in." She slams her clipboard down on the table. "Where is Cinna?" she demands in a high pitched tone. "I'd rather him around than _you_."

"Cinna's dead."

"Be _quiet_!" Effie screams. "He's not dead, Haymitch, you're just a raging drunk who doesn't know what he's talking about!" She picks up an apple and hurls it at him, sadly missing and uselessly hitting the wall instead. "Get out! _Get out_!"

"Effie, I am only trying to help you." Haymitch rises to his feet, but Effie's glower stops him in his tracks. "Okay," he says with some resignation, "okay, I'll get out." He stomps out, and Effie takes a shuddering breath and pulls her suit in order.

The attendant enters again, a terrified look on her face, and Effie whirls on her next. "You! Did you go get Katniss and Peeta?"

"They're not in their beds," the attendant stammers, but Effie is having none of it.

"Then go _find _them!" she growls, fingers white around her clipboard. "We're behind schedule and if we lose any more time we will be missing the Games _entirely_!"

The door hisses open and the attendant scurries out as Peeta steps in. "Effie," he says gently.

"There you are!" Effie slams the clipboard down again. "You're late, Peeta! I never expected it from _you_ of all people-"

"I'm sorry," he says smoothly as he sits down. "Was it a terrible time?"

Effie takes another deep breath and adjusts her wig. "Yes," she says in a calmer tone as Peeta begins to butter his bread. "Yes, it was. Haymitch was in here saying awful, _awful _things about the Capitol. He'll get tried as a traitor one of these days, mark my words."

"What'd he say?" Peeta asks, chewing on the bread. "You should drink some tea, Effie, it really does soothe you. Katniss tells me so, at least."

Effie shudders. "He said the Capitol was dead. _Dead, _Peeta." She frowns when she looks at him; had he always been so gaunt, so much older, so much more world-weary? "You look tired," she says, changing the subject as she pulls the tea closer to her and begins adding some sugar to it.

"Yes, it's been a long day," Peeta says quietly.

"The day's just begun," Effie says in some confusion.

"Has it?" Peeta smiles as he smears jam on the slice of bread. "I'm sorry, it just feels like I've been up since forever." He watches Effie stir her tea, a vacant look in her eyes. "Effie," he prompts, "you should really drink that tea."

She acquiesces and takes a sip, letting the sugary, creamy taste run across her tongue. "Have you seen Cinna?" she asks. "Haymitch was in here spouting some nonsense about Cinna being dead."

"I'm sure he'll be in here soon," Peeta reassures her, although Effie notices the shadow of sadness flit across his face. "Drink some tea, Effie, you look a little stressed still."

Effie does what he suggests and takes a bigger gulp of the tea. "You don't think it's possible, do you?" she asks. "That the Capitol is dead?"

"Everything dies," Peeta says simply. "Everything changes, Effie, maybe you just aren't prepared for it."

Effie stares ahead as sudden images and sounds begin to creep into her mind. Screams, darkness, a small cell with people she vaguely recognizes. A voice asking over and over again: _Where is Katniss Everdeen_?

"Where _is _Katniss?" she asks out loud.

"Probably still sleeping," Peeta says, "it's been a long couple days for her."

"Oh, yes," Effie agrees immediately, though suddenly she feels so tired. "Her poor sister. I hope that they get to see each other again. What was her name?"

Peeta doesn't answer for a long while. "Prim," he says at last. "Her name was… Prim."

"Primrose, of course. Such a shame, what happened to her." Effie leans her head against her hand as the room begins to swirl. "You must excuse me, Peeta, I suddenly don't feel so well. Haymitch must have upset me too much."

She feels a pair of arms support her. "Let's get you to the couch," Peeta says, and Effie feels herself being lifted and carried. Once Peeta's put her on the couch and pulled up blankets over her, he says, "Maybe you should get some sleep, Effie. It's a long road ahead for you."

She just nods and drifts off, but she can still vaguely hear voices whispering in the room.

"The medicine's not helping," Haymitch says roughly.

"It's helping," Peeta says, "today she remembered that something happened to Prim."

"It'll take her eternity until she recovers, then."

"Then we'll wait," Peeta says firmly.

Their voices blur together as Effie drifts off again and when she next wakes, the room is dark and no one is there with her.

She wonders why her pillow is damp with tears.

_it was so easy and the words so sweet.  
you can't remember; you try to move your feet._

* * *

"eet", regina spektor


	5. Caesar Flickerman

the war: and how it tore us all apart

* * *

**oo5. caesar flickerman**

_we go straight for the thunder, straight for the rain  
love leaves a mark and love leaves a strain  
back in the saddle again and again  
millions of eyes and none of them friends_

Caesar Flickerman likes to consider himself a chameleon.

It's the only way that he survived in these Games. Yes, he reflects every morning when he looks at himself in the mirror, it's like he was in these Games himself. _Twenty years. _Every morning had been a battle against himself, against the Capitol as he tried to forget the screams.

It's a dreary routine now when he wakes up in the morning. He stares at himself in the mirror, hair faded and graying- when was the last time he dyed his hair? A month ago? Three? He tries to remember, but he cannot. All he really sees these days are the faces of the tributes he interviewed.

It's like they are there with him sometimes. He curses himself often for having such a fantastically accurate memory, because he can remember their names and faces and traits all the way down to the very last bit. He remembers their deaths too. That's the worst part.

As his coffee boils and bubbles in the pot, he props his chin in his hand and absently stares out his loft window. Below him he can vaguely hear the high pitched voices of the Capitol women strutting around, perkily exclaiming that they can't _wait _for today, that today Katniss Everdeen will be coming to visit the Capitol, that today… that today… and Caesar tunes them out. It's like they've forgotten that a few months ago they were cowering for their lives as the bombs fell and the government was overturned. He hates them for it. He hates himself more, though.

Twenty years of playing "roll over" for the Capitol, and where did _that _get him? Caesar sighs as the coffee pot beeps and he rises from his chair to get his morning brew.

There was a time, of course, when Caesar enjoyed his job. For the first three years, it was a rush, tweaking and toying and finally finding the right trait that would leave the best impression of the tributes. It was a game that Caesar was exceptionally good at. It was why the Capitol had hired him at the fresh young age of twenty.

And then he had come across the first tribute that had struck Caesar in the heart. He leans against his loft window, observing the milling Capitol denizens as he remembers every last detail of the little boy who had cried in front of him. Twelve year old Cordo Ogilby, tribute from District Seven, who began sobbing uncontrollably when Caesar had told him a joke to calm his nerves.

He was killed on the very first day when the District One tributes had converged on him, broken his ribs and then snapped his neck.

Twelve years old, never to be seen again.

The job had only gotten harder from there, Caesar reflects as his fingers tighten around his mug. There was Delphi Rollo whose favorite color was grey like the storm clouds in District Eleven that year; there was Valeria Greenlaw from Four, who spoke about how one day she wanted to be the best healer in Panem; Skene Perthshire from Three, who had just come up with an idea for a generator for electricity and didn't live past the third day to see it come to fruition. Caesar winces when he remembers how they died- not kindly, not gently, not easily.

The Games are not easy for anyone, and he has had to live through twenty years sending the tributes off to death. He had the _worst _possible job, he angrily thinks to himself. At least the Gamemakers were sadistic. They took pleasure in coming up with ways for the tributes to die. Snow- well, Snow just didn't care, did he? But Caesar- Caesar had to sit there day after day, staring into the eyes of terrified, scared children who would go into an Arena the next day and be forced to survive.

Even now when the war is over, Caesar never forgets the ghosts. He still has dreams where he sits in the interviewer's chair and interviews the dead tributes. All of them, from the 55th Hunger Games all the way till the 75th. All of them sitting opposite him with silent, dull eyes saying one thing over and over again: _You are one of us_.

He wishes that he had done something to stop the Capitol. He could have, of course. He had been the only host in all of Panem; they would have listened, they couldn't have shut the program off. But instead, he had just sat by and watched each tribute walk off to their certain death. He hadn't done anything to help the rebels' cause, even though he should have- no, instead he had saved his own skin and interviewed an obviously tortured and badly beaten Peeta Mellark. Caesar clenches his mug as the steam frames his graying hair and face. He'd been used by the Capitol. No wonder the rebels didn't exactly consider him an ally when they'd won- it had taken a lot of convincing by Peeta for them to finally just put him under house arrest.

He should have done something. Run away, stand up to the Capitol, refuse to interview anyone- he could have done something. He _would _have done something if… Caesar shakes his head and dumps his coffee down the sink. No, he wouldn't have. He knows that he wouldn't have joined the likes of Finnick Odair (he remembers interviewing him, he remembers challenging Finnick to come up with a love poem on the spot), Johanna Mason (he remembers her, he remembers contrasting her seeming fragility to the traditional strength and independence of her district), Peeta Mellark (he remembers him of course, who could forget Lover Boy?) and Katniss Everdeen (he'd been the one to coin Mockingjay- secretly, of course, even before the war officially started he'd known the Capitol had had it out for her). He's not a warrior. He's not a fighter. He's not a tactician, not a diplomat.

He's only someone who blends in, who does what he is told.

Caesar Flickerman considers himself a chameleon.

He wonders how useful that is to him now that there is nothing left for him to blend _into_.

_and these sorrows i'm crying over  
and these sorrows i'm crying over_

* * *

"crying over", patty griffin

* * *

Thoughts? Comments? I love you guys for reading this. :)


	6. Katniss

I tried with this one. But let's just put it this way, no one can ever come close to Suzanne Collins..

I do not own these characters.

* * *

the war: and how it tore us all apart

* * *

**oo6. katniss**

_begin again  
you're no calendar  
you're no __concrete plan_

There is no sound save for her breath when Katniss jerks wide awake, breaths coming in shallow gasps as she sits up in bed and pulls the covers closer to her. She looks wildly around, but the bedroom is empty and the windows are closed- there are no signs of the mutts or littered roses that haunted her dreams moments ago.

She closes her eyes, weary and exhausted of all the running in her dreams. It has been two years since the end of the war- three since her first Games- but the images still ring fresh in her mind, as vivid and illustrative as they were when they unfolded before her eyes.

The worst part is that they have begun to blend together, all of them; just moments ago, she had been dreaming about a mutt with green eyes attacking a bronze-haired man and a tiny blonde girl on fire. Katniss wearily swings her feet out of bed, deciding that sleep will offer her no refuge today.

The door is slightly ajar and the other side of the bed is empty, meaning that Peeta is already up. Katniss listens for any sound from the kitchen downstairs, but she is greeted by silence. Peeta must have left early for the bakery; she vaguely remembers him mentioning a special cake for a special occasion, but she can't recall if he actually told her who it was for. They've both been so tired lately; what with Paylor calling Katniss so often to the Capitol and Peeta handling the sudden influx of requests for cakes, they have had barely any time to rest.

She runs her fingers through her hair as she makes the short trip from her bed to the bathroom, where she washes her face and pulls her hair back into the braid that has served as her fall-back hairstyle for the last three years. Taking a deep breath, she pushes the thoughts of green eyed wolves and white roses out of her head, focusing instead on the pictures and portraits in the book that she assembled following the war. Rue's deep brown eyes stare out at her from one page; Prim's smile blossoms on the next, followed by Finnick's smirk and Boggs's gentle face.

In the wan sunlight streaming through the windows, the memories don't seem so harmful really, but at night, when Katniss is trapped by sleep and nightmares, their faces line up and blend together in a myriad of hurt and pain. Katniss can't count how many times she has woken up screaming as Peeta holds her close, murmuring words of comfort that soothe her instantly.

No matter how hard she works, no matter how far she runs, no matter how hard she tries to convince herself otherwise, Katniss is haunted by the ghosts of the Games. She has come to accept this fact even as she continues to try and move on, but there is a growing acceptance in her that accepts that it is a part of her history she can never change, a part her children will have to learn to understand.

Today, she wants to rest and deal with the ghosts herself.

Paging through the book, Katniss allows herself to drift into her memories of the people in the book. She remembers Rue's laughter echoing through the trees; Prim's nimble fingers bandaging Katniss's cut that one year she came home after a mishap at hunting; Finnick's reassuring words when he saw her struggling to deal with Peeta's transformation.

And as always, she is reminded of their deaths, casualties of a war that she so unknowingly sparked. Katniss doesn't cry- she is long past crying at this point- but she does close the book and blankly stare out the window at the sun as it rises slowly into the pale blue sky. It's easier sometimes to just indulge in the memories, she sighs softly to herself. Easier to indulge the memories than fight them all the time.

She is startled out of her reverie when two hands place themselves on her shoulders. "You're dreaming again," Peeta's whisper tickles her ear.

"Am I?" Her mouth twitches in a small smile.

"You've got that look on your face. Prim say anything this time?" Peeta sits down beside her, his hand still holding hers. It is a game they both play now, a game where she tries to imagine what the ghosts might have said in this situation. It helps keep them alive to Katniss, alive and well instead of screaming for their lives like they do nightly.

"She sends her love, and tells you to stop burning yourself at the bakery," Katniss says lightly, turning over Peeta's hand to look at the fresh burn. "What did you do this time?"

"Bake a cake," he says easily. "Our cake."

"Our cake?"

Peeta lets go and gets up from his chair, walking over to where a box is sitting on the counter. "It's our anniversary," he says.

"Of our first or second wedding?" Katniss quips, but with serious confusion hinted in her tone- it is the middle of May, and their wedding anniversary isn't till August.

Peeta chuckles as he opens the box, revealing a pristine white cake decorated with orange flowers and green leaves and stems twirling all around it. "Of the first time I fell in love with you," he says gently.

She scoffs even as she stands on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "Real or not real?"

His expression turns somber. "Real." He pulls her in by the waist, his other hand gently stroking her cheek. "I don't remember a lot of things, but I remember that." The expression on his face tells Katniss that he's serious, and she feels something that resembles tears well up in her eyes even as she hastily tamps them down. She is somewhat relieved, touched even, that Peeta remembers something as simple as this. After all the things that the tracker jacker venom has taken away from him, he remembers this.

It gives her hope that maybe they are moving on from the war, after all.

Peeta kisses her on the cheek before releasing her, moving towards the kitchen where he retrieves two plates. "I invited Annie over," he says over his shoulder, "I hope you don't mind. Johanna called after visiting her, says Annie's a bit lonely down in Four-"

"It's perfect," Katniss says quietly, moving over to her husband and leaning her head against his back as she wraps her arms around his waist. "Everything is perfect."

He intertwines his fingers with hers. "You love me," he says, his voice reverberating through Katniss's body, "real or not real?"

She doesn't hesitate. She never hesitates anymore, not after the nightmares of Gale, not after it's her turn to hold Peeta close as he screams with his own demons. "Real," she tells him.

_wake up  
to sun  
'cause morning still comes_

* * *

"begin again", measure


	7. Johanna

Johanna is supremely difficult to write. I don't know why I had such a hard time getting into her head. Maybe because she's such a stoic character and we never really see much emotion come from her in the books. She's such a strong character.

Here is my take on her!

Disclaimer: I own Hunger Games? You're joking, right...

* * *

the war: and how it tore us all apart

* * *

**oo7. johanna**

_take a look at my body,  
look at my hands  
there's so much here that i don't understand_

Johanna has had enough. "What are _you _staring at?" she snaps at the startled greengrocer behind the counter, who mutters a startled apology before scuttling to the back to find something.

The former District 7 victor scowls before stomping out of the store, making sure to slam the door shut behind her. _People and their curious stares. _She sweeps by the next few stores, her bad mood trailing behind her like a whirlwind. _Honestly_, she grumbles inwardly, _what's so fascinating about me, anyway_?

Oh, it's not like she doesn't know. She sees the scars when she gets home, the criss cross of welts that tattoo her shoulders and peek tauntingly out of her high collar. Her cheeks have scratches too, but most days Johanna passes them off as accidents, not the scratches she suffered in both the Games and during the rebellion. Her hair is now cropped shorter than ever, and she is aware that she looks like a malnourished cub.

_I _am _eating_, she's snapped at a tired Gale when he demanded if she's been eating, _it's not my fault if the food here tastes like rocks. _

Johanna almost wishes that she could go home to District 7 where she used to feel the safest, but she knows that there is no home for her in Seven now. No one to love- they are all dead, thanks to Snow- no home to stay in, because Snow made sure her house was burned down during the rebellion, and then he executed anyone known to have associated with Johanna. The victor grins sadistically as she collapses onto a chair. That had been a frustrating exercise for Snow; nobody liked Johanna, so very few had ever associated with her.

Now, she is stuck in a district full of idiots. _Block heads, how fitting for Two. _Johanna scowls as she idly flicks a piece of balled up paper across the room. She hated her job. She hated working for Gale. She hated everything about it… but there was no place better to go. No place better to be. No home to go to.

She would never really understand why she couldn't fix herself, Johanna thinks to herself as the silence in the room settles like dust. Hadn't she always been that way, though? Independent. Strong. Isolated. She didn't need anyone to help her.

_I do not need anyone. I do not need anyone. _Johanna places her head in her hands, repeating the mantra over and over in her head. Some days, it is enough for her to repeat it. Most days, she believes it. Then there are those days like today, when she feels pushed to the brink and can no longer believe it. The stares from strangers do not help. The whispers do not cease around her.

She hates being looked at as the center of attraction. Some days, she finds herself wishing she had never won the Games. If she hadn't won, she wouldn't have been in the rebellion. If she hadn't been in the rebellion, she wouldn't be living right now. Johanna winces and cradles her head in her hands. There were just too many thoughts to try and handle all at once. She can't handle it today. Not today, of all days.

Johanna wakes an hour later, slightly alarmed to find that she's fallen asleep at her kitchen table and the night is beginning to fall across Panem. There is a cup of tea in front of her, still warm- Johanna sighs. "Hawthorne," she yells irritably, "I _told _you not to come into my house without permission."

"It was unlocked," Gale's voice yells back from upstairs, and then Johanna hears the tap running. "Might I remind you that it's _my _house, not yours?"

"Excuse me?" Johanna retorts as she begins to ascend the stairs. "I paid for it, too."

"Right," Gale's voice says from the bathroom that both rooms upstairs share, "but who paid for two thirds of the rent?" She can almost hear him grin as he anticipates her answer.

"Shut up," she mutters instead as she slams her bedroom door behind her.

He knocks on her door ten minutes later, when she is lying on her side staring out at the last vestiges of the sun disappearing behind the stony, granite mountains of Two. "Dinner," he says, opening the door and walking in uninvited as usual.

"Not hungry."

"You have to _eat, _Johanna."

"Not hungry."

He sighs and closes the door behind him, leaning against it with his leg propped up against the chair beside Johanna's bed. "You're upset. What's wrong?"

"What is this, share-our-feelings hour?" Johanna scoffs. "Hawthorne, I didn't know you were such a girl."

"You mock me now, but you'll feel better once you get it off your chest." He says it so reasonably, Johanna grumbles.

She says nothing and he huffs irritably. "Should I get you kick-started then?" When she rolls her eyes and turns away from him, she hears him rap his knuckles against the door, a sure sign that he's impatient. "It has something to do with today's date, doesn't it?"

Johanna freezes. "How did you know," she says almost inaudibly.

"Saw your calendar at work," he says almost flippantly, though she can detect that blasted note of pity hidden in his tone somewhere. "I'm sure Annie will appreciate the visit. I don't think she's ever told Kai the truth about Finnick-"

Johanna is on him the next moment, her arms pinned on either side of his head and her face two inches away from him. "You," she snarled, "do _not _get to talk about this like it's some sort of inconsequential visit." She hits him as hard as she can in the chest. "You don't know what it's like, losing everyone you care about-"

"You got all that from my one remark about visiting Annie?" His tone is infuriatingly calm. "I'll give you leave, if that's what you're worried about-"

"Stop," Johanna snapped. "Stop-"

"Stop what?" In the back of her mind, Johanna hears a voice telling her that he's doing this on purpose, that he's pushing her towards telling him what she's feeling, but she careens forward.

"Stop making this something that isn't as important as it is," she growls. "Do you know what it's like, Gale? Being unable to do anything as your best friend dies in battle? Having to tell his wife? Knowing you'll never see him again?"

Gale considers this a moment. "No."

"Then _don't _pretend like you do!" Johanna yells.

"What's the alternative?" he asks evenly. "Do you want me to pretend that nothing is wrong, Johanna? That we're both normal people with normal lives?"

She slams the door in his face, but the door isn't thick enough to drown Gale out. "Because we're _not_," he goes on as though Johanna hasn't just slammed the door on him. "We're survivors and that means we have to live through whatever memories we've got, even if they give us hell."

"Shut _up_," Johanna snarls. "You don't get to talk, Hawthorne. You didn't lose everyone who loved you."

"I did," Gale corrects her, "and not only that, but I have to live with you."

She snorts at that one.

"Now come out," Gale says in a gentler tone, "and I can take you to the train station so you can go to Four."

"I can do it myself," Johanna says haughtily.

Gale sighs from his side of the door. "You said that last year and you ended up not going, Johanna."

"I don't need your help."

"No," he agrees, "you never need anyone's help, do you?"

Johanna scowls even darker than before. "Go away," she says.

Gale hesitates. "It'll be okay, Johanna," he says at last, with his words ringing hollow to even his own ears.

"Go away," Johanna says again- this time more robotically as she retreats back into her shell.

There is silence (sweet, blessed silence) behind the door, and then she hears footsteps padding away. Johanna pulls her knees up to her chest as she sits on her bed, fingers clenching and unclenching as she tries to find her thoughts again.

_I do not need anyone. I am alone. I do not need anyone now. I am independent. I can survive. _She tries to repeat the mantra, but she keeps losing track as her thoughts return to her fallen friend from Four and his wife and child. _It'll be okay_, Gale's voice says in her mind, but Johanna grits her teeth as she recognizes the emptiness of that promise.

_ I do not need anyone. I am alone. _

Maybe, Johanna reflects right before she falls asleep, the reason why she is so lonely is because she won't let the ghosts of her past go. _I am alone. _Nobody will comfort her as she falls asleep. _It'll be okay, _Gale's words whisper, but Johanna pushes them away. His promises are empty. He does not understand. She does not need pity. She needs something that cannot be retrieved. And resigning herself to that knowledge, Johanna Mason falls asleep.

_they say that promises sweeten the blow  
but i don't need them... no i don't need them_.

* * *

"my skin", natalie merchant


End file.
